Dawn
by ashleyjskywalker
Summary: A possibility for what might've happened if it had been Olivia that returned at the end of season 2 instead of Alt-livia


In your opinion, debriefing always takes too long.

This one was no exception- if anything, it was even longer, after you tally in all of the medical tests at that they insisted you go through. The practical part of yourself tells you that it's only sensible, considering what you've just experienced, and you try to relax and not brood the entire way through the process.

The emotional part of yourself refuses to play along. You're not sure how you're supposed to calmly sit through the gamut of tests and answer endless questions when Peter's sitting a scant ten feet from you, eyes on you at every opportunity, gazing at you as if he can see through your eyes into your soul- the soul that you bared to him to bring him home. It still scares you a little, the thought of being that vulnerable.

The poking and prodding finally ends. They let Peter go some time ago, and you as you gather your things and get ready to leave, you wonder where he is, what he's doing.

Whether he's thinking about you as much as you're thinking about him.

The brisk night breeze is a refreshing change from the stuffy air of the medical center, and you pause for a moment to survey your surroundings, disappointed when you realize that Peter is nowhere to be seen and he must have gone home, and that working out your feelings will have to wait.

But then you get home and you find him sitting on the steps of your apartment building, breath misting in the cool night air, and your heart skips a beat when he sees you and smiles. "Hi," you breathe, amazed that he's here.

"Hey yourself." The smile is still on his face. "Can we talk?"

"I'd like that." He follows you up the stairs and into your apartment, and he sits down on the couch as you make a quick trip into the kitchen to fetch a bottle of wine and some glasses before joining him there.

And you talk. About how it wasn't until you'd found out the he had crossed over that you finally acknowledged that you needed him with you. About how when Walternate had spoken of destroying this universe, his first thoughts had been of you. The way your heart had raced when you'd kissed him. The way he hadn't wanted to ever let you go.

You talk about everything.

And somewhere amidst the talking and the laughing and the wine, his lips find yours again and you feel like everything in the world is perfect.

You wake the next morning, immediately confused because you're not in your bed. Adding to your bewilderment is that something is wrapped around your waist.

A glance down reveals that it's an arm, and suddenly you remember lying on the couch the night before, Peter curled up behind you, some silly movie on the TV that neither of you were paying attention to. You smile as you remember the way his lips traced a line from your ear to your collarbone, whispering gently in your ear, and the way that your fingers threaded through his hair as you kissed each other senseless.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, you slip out from underneath his arm, moving into the kitchen to turn the coffeepot on. The sun begins its ascent, bright in a clear sky.

Dawn is your favorite part of the day.

There's something soothing about being awake before the rest of the world, before the sun has even nudged the horizon. The only sounds are the birds chirping, and the leaves softly rustling in the wind. For those few precious moments as you gaze out the window, you find it possible to forget about the daily struggles, and simply _be_.

The quiet stir of movement behind you draws your attention, and you move back into the living room to find that Peter has flopped onto his back, one arm hanging off of the couch. You smile, sitting down on the edge of the coffee table, and gently run your hand through his hair. The gentle snore that escapes from his mouth is endearing, and you lean down to kiss him softly on the forehead, the gentle contact enough to rouse him from slumber.

He blinks sleepily a few times before his eyes focus on you and he reaches out to take your hand. "Morning, beautiful," he murmurs, smiling up at you, and your heart begins its stampede in your chest again.

Dawn has never felt so perfect before.


End file.
